There is a little creature that lives in my house,
small and quiet as a mouse,
sneaks into my bedroom, past all the locks,
opens my drawers, and steals my socks.
He's not greedy, just one at a time,
I had eighteen, now I've nine.
Christmas, birthdays, you can bet,
socks and socks are all I get.
From Aunties, Uncles the occasional Niece.
this makes the day of the one sock thief.
Why does he takes just the one!
Perverted pleasure or just for fun?
Why he takes them is beyond belief,
the dirty rotten one sock thief
John Wathen
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